52 Ancestors 2025: Disappeared—The Children

 

It is not uncommon in family research to find relatives who seem to have dropped out of the records under mysterious circumstances. Yet, what struck this genealogist (and father) with a professional interest in public health is the recurring pattern of infant and childhood mortality throughout my family history. The evidence is everywhere: large families in the 17th and 18th centuries, the reuse of names for children who died young, and mothers who themselves died in childbirth.

For this post, I chose to focus on the 1900 and 1910 censuses and the listings of my ancestors in Barton County, Missouri. Why these censuses? Because in these years, mothers were asked not only how many children they had, but also how many were still living.

The inclusion of these questions reflects a growing national interest in public health at the turn of the century. The United States was expanding, and cities were swelling with people. Coastal and river regions, particularly in warmer climates, were plagued by yellow fever and malaria. In Kentucky—a major pathway for many of my ancestors—the rise of Lexington as a trans-Appalachian “Athens of the West” was abruptly halted by a cholera epidemic in 1833. As cities grew, the problems of waste disposal and sanitation became impossible to ignore.

By the mid-1800s, public health reforms were gaining momentum. In Massachusetts, Lemuel Shattuck (my 5th cousin, five times removed) championed sanitation measures. In London, John Snow famously linked cholera to contaminated water at the Broad Street pump. Advances in germ theory by Louis Pasteur, Robert Koch, and others, along with improvements in medical education, underscored the importance of separating water supplies from human and animal waste. Cities—especially overcrowded and impoverished neighborhoods like New York’s Lower East Side—saw the highest levels of childhood mortality, but rapid improvements followed.

What about rural Barton County, Missouri? Farms allowed for cleaner separation of wells, outhouses, and animal pens. Milk from cows on the farm was commonly boiled. Crowding was not an issue, but access to medical care was limited. Vaccines for childhood illnesses did not exist, nor were antibiotics available to treat bacterial infections.

Even so, mortality among children was a reality. Many of the older mothers among my ancestors lost between one and three children. We don’t always know how old the children were when they died, but we can imagine the grief. The mothers who had babies at the turn of the century and later may have seen some improvement, though I’d need to dig into statistics before drawing conclusions—that would be the subject of a scientific study, not a blog post.

The family photo at the top of this post, taken around 1909, shows my grandparents, Virgil and Marietta (Yount) Cassatt, with my Aunt Alta Mae. According to the 1900 census, Virgil's mother Susan lost 3 of her 6 children, and Marietta's Mary mother lost 2 of her 7 children. Together, Virgil and marietta had six children who survived infancy, but they also lost a 9-day-old baby boy, Frank, in 1907, and another newborn son in 1925. Their daughter Alta grew up, married, but died in 1942 at age 34 after a two-week illness. On my maternal side, a young uncle, Stephen Claire, died of appendicitis at age 6.

Today, we benefit from sanitation systems, vaccines, antibiotics, and hospitals equipped to care for the youngest and most vulnerable. Looking back, we can see how much progress has been made through public health, science, and medicine. Large families were the norm in those days, yet even with strong faith, supportive families, and close-knit communities, our ancestors deeply felt the pain of losing their children. Though some of these children may have lived only briefly, their memories endured.

52 Ancestors 2025: Animals

 

This week’s prompt was “Animals,” and for so many of my farming ancestors, that meant livestock. But where to begin? With so many ancestors to choose from, I decided to focus on one: my namesake, David Cassatt. We’ve already learned about his unusual birth, his Civil War service, and his farming in Barton County. Although I cannot find him in the 1870 census, I know his family moved to Carroll County, Missouri, where he married Susan Corilla Houseworth on August 22, 1872. In 1878, he moved to Barton County, first renting a farm.

Much of what I know about his farm comes from the 1880 Census, both the Population and Agricultural Schedules. From those, and with some extra digging (with the help of ChatGPT), we get a vivid picture of his farm life.

Population Schedule:

• David Cassatt, 35, head, farmer

• Susan Cassatt, 27, wife

• Orville Cassatt, 4, son

• Virgil Cassatt, 2, son

Virgil was my grandfather. At this stage, David was a fairly young farmer, just establishing himself and his family. His boys were still too young to help with chores, but they probably had free run of the house and yard while David and Susan took care of the farm—working the land, tending livestock, and turning the harvest and animal products (meat, eggs, milk) into food.

Agricultural Schedule:

• Land: 95 improved acres (under cultivation)
• Value of farm: $1,200 (land, fences, buildings), $50 (implements and machinery), $1,000 (livestock)
• Wages paid: $10
• Value of farm products: $300

Livestock:

• 5 horses
• 4 milk cows
• 31 other cattle
• 6 calves dropped
• 35 cows purchased
• 3 cows died
• 23 swine
• 50 poultry

Crops and Yield:

• Butter: 40 lbs
• Eggs: 100 dozen
• Corn: 1,000 bushels from 55 acres
• Oats: 50 bushels from 4 acres
• Wheat: 122 bushels from 8 acres
• Dried beans: 25 bushels
• Castor beans: 132 bushels from 12 acres
• Molasses: 40 gallons from ¼ acre sorghum
• Potatoes: 175 bushels from 2 acres

Although some of the grains and produce were consumed or sold, much of it would have supported the livestock.

The five horses were the true workhorses of the farm, pulling plows and wagons in the age before tractors. The milk cows provided fresh milk—consumed at home (often heated briefly for safety) or churned into butter. David’s household produced 40 pounds of butter, most likely used in the kitchen but possibly sold if there was excess. Starting out, he also expanded his herd by purchasing 35 cows. Some of these, along with the calves, would have become milk cows, while others were fattened as steers for sale or kept as breeding bulls.

The swine and poultry were equally important. Pigs could be fed corn, kitchen scraps, and skim milk, and they were fattened through summer before being butchered in cool weather—likely with neighbors lending a hand. Without refrigeration, only the best cuts would be eaten fresh, sometimes at neighborhood feasts. The rest of the pork was cured with salt and sugar, sometimes smoked, and stored for the year. Lard, rendered from fat, was kept cool and used for cooking. Steers, too large for family consumption, would be taken to the nearest railhead—perhaps in Liberal, Golden City, or Lamar—for sale and slaughter.

The 50 chickens (and perhaps some turkeys, ducks, or geese) provided the 100 dozen eggs listed in the census. These eggs, along with surplus butter, could be sold for “butter and egg money.” Chickens themselves would occasionally become Sunday dinner.

Like most family farms of the time, David’s was highly diversified—producing food for the family and some cash income to sustain the household. Over time, he was very successful, eventually providing farms for his sons Orville, Virgil, and Bascom.

And then there’s the famous family picture. What about those rabbits on leashes? While farmers were known to eat almost anything edible, I suspect these rabbits were pets—one for each boy. By the time of that photo, the boys were old enough to be helping with chores, especially during the busy summer and harvest seasons. It was a demanding life, but one full of abundance on the newly broken prairie land.

52 Ancestors 2025: In the News

 

I can’t say that my ancestors were the type to make national headlines—those were more likely the provenance of some more distant relatives—but in the age of newspapers, most of them had obituaries. This obituary of my 2nd-great granduncle, George Washington Mayfield, is rich with information and stories. His sister, Polly Mayfield, was my 2nd-great grandmother on my father’s side. Besides learning about George and getting names of family members, we also gain stories about wars and westward migration.

The first remarkable story is that of his father, Stephen Mayfield, who fought for the patriots in the American Revolution and, at age 17, served as a spy in his native North Carolina.

Mr. Mayfield was the only son of a Revolutionary soldier living in Missouri, his father, Stephen Mayfield, having enlisted against King George when 17 years old. He fought through seven years of the war for Independence, his service being the spying out of the royal forces in North Carolina under the guise of a mill boy taking grain to be ground.

According to FamilySearch, Stephen was born in 1758, so age 17 would place his service from 1775 until 1782. North Carolina was a particularly important theater in 1780 and 1781, when General Nathanael Greene and Lord Cornwallis clashed, prompting the British army’s retreat to the Virginia coastline. Perhaps Stephen’s knowledge of troop positions aided the now-seasoned southern forces in their success against Cornwallis.

The obituary also notes the family’s westward migration after the war, first to southwestern Kentucky—possibly to the town of Mayfield, though that may have been named for a different Mayfield settler—and then to southeastern Missouri.

George’s own life was touched by war, this time the Civil War. His obituary records:

Then came the Civil war, in which Mr. Mayfield would take no part, although his sympathies were with the South. He was persecuted by both armies and was arrested by the Southern forces as a spy, being mistaken for another man.

And:

Outside the farmhouse on the plantation was a large black walnut tree and an end of the rope, which was about Mr. Mayfield's neck, was thrown over this in a last effort to make him admit he was the man wanted, or at least testify against the suspected spy, who was his brother-in-law. Mr. Mayfield refused to speak and maintained his composure so well that the captain of the troop released him, saying he was too open-faced a man to have a double heart.

Although his obituary notes his Southern leanings, I could not find George listed in the 1850 or 1860 slave schedules. I did, however, find John S. Yount, his sister’s brother-in-law, recorded there. Perhaps George’s interests were more regional than financial.

In any case, while George was known as a successful farmer, his greater legacy was clearly in the fields of medicine and education. Five of his sons became physicians, and he helped his son found Will Mayfield College. While records provide names, dates, and locations, articles like this obituary breathe life into our family history. We can also see the southern influences in my own family, as the Younts and various Mayfields migrated to Barton County, Missouri.